


Hips with Snap

by HarvestHoneymoon



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Second Person, Partial Nudity, Pegging, Smut, Swearing, kinda fluffy?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 11:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8141498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarvestHoneymoon/pseuds/HarvestHoneymoon
Summary: An observation in the BADTFL office leads to something you'd never thought you'd see; Nick Valentine subbing for you.





	

**Author's Note:**

> whoops people liked this on tumblr so im putting this up here
> 
> this is my first smut fic (and its also super self indulgent) so please be forgiving of any errors or anomalies ;;;
> 
> i hope y'all like it

The strap on between your legs loomed over Nick’s port, his yellow eyes on it attentively. His systems whirred beneath plastic and rubber in anticipation, heating the frigid room as they worked hard to keep him rational and conscious.

To think, this had all started as a joke between you two.

You and Nick had to move a couple things around in the old BADTFL building while on the hunt for Eddie Winter. Out in about in the ruined Commonwealth, any Wastelander willing to survive would need some muscle, and luckily, through months of practice, you’d developed some. You just hadn’t expected it to develop in your hips, of all places, or that as a result, you thrust your hips when shoving things over.

Nick’s eyes, at the time, had wandered down, as they did sometimes when he was with you and had caught your body mid-motion, shoving over a desk full of musty folders and files, using your full weight to push it over. Although you hadn’t seen how he reacted, his voice told the whole story.

“…never thought hips could have that kind of snap to ‘em.”

You could tell, when you looked up, that Nick hadn’t meant for that to slip. Although he couldn’t blush the way a human could, the air around him grew warm, and his eyes had brightened slightly, in the shadows. The light from them pooled underneath his cheeks, doing all the work blood vessels needed to.

You’d laughed at his expression, then. The Raiders that had camped out there were all dead, so with no one around to be careful for, you couldn’t help yourself. He’d gotten that bashful, almost bird-like expression to him that showed he was lying or trying to hide something.

You hadn’t asked him what he meant then. Your relationship was well beyond business partners, or even friends now, and if it so happened he liked your hips, it wasn’t that out of the ordinary.

But now, here you were, with swollen lips, your breasts exposed and hanging over him, and about ready to take him, as he usually did for you with his fingers. Your breath comes out in little puffs of white.

Nick swallows, in the silence, and looks up, studying your expression for any shred of doubt or discomfort. He knows for a fact this was a little out of the ordinary for you two, and while the thoughts of you rutting his synthetic brains out until he could hardly speak hadn’t left him alone for two weeks, he wants to be sure you were on board with everything. He doesn’t want this kind of experience to be one sided.

“…doin’ alright up there, kid?” he asks, his voice strained and smoky. You look up and give a brief nod, a rosy hue pooling to your face. His eyes are dim with desire, half-lidded and trained on you.

“If… If this ever gets too much, let m—,” he starts but doesn’t get to finish. Something in you moves your hips to the exposed port, and pushes inside, cutting him off with a breathy moan.

He’s not used to you taking initiative, let alone cutting him off, and the suddenness of the action makes his coolant race around him, to try and keep him from overheating. His eyes flicker, with how the pleasure courses through him, and his hands curl into the sheets, trying to keep him grounded.

“D-Doll, I’m bein’ serious,” he whines like an old hound dog. “I don’t…”

He swallows again, as best as a synth can, the mounting heat in him making it hard to stay focused on what he’s trying to say.

“I don’t want to… To force you into anything…”

He offers you a vulnerable smile, trying to appear sincere, even as he resists the urge to buck his hips up into you. You smile, and can’t help but giggle at the sight, then lean over him and kiss him. Your hands find his and bring them up beside his head, your fingers entwining with his. You’re lucky this happened _after_ you fixed his metal hand and patched his coat, otherwise, you might’ve left them at his sides for your comfort’s sake.

He melts into the kiss, a quiet sound of insistence dying on the air. He doesn’t mean to be overly cautious like this; it’s an old habit from his days of wandering the Commonwealth as something of a cryptid or anomaly. Maybe even a remnant of his donor. Whatever the case, you intend to put it to rest for the night. 

And you start with a slow thrust mid-kiss.

The sound you earn from the action is surprised and shaky, almost a whimper of pain, but oh so _wanting._ His fingers curl into yours, and his back arches slightly from the bed. You move again, and get another sound, and another, and another, until you’re pegging him at a slow, even pace.

When you pull off from the kiss, the sight overwhelms you; Nick Valentine, suave detective extraordinaire, littered in red lipstick marks, ‘blushing’ like a newlywed bride, eyes practically rolling back in his sockets as he takes each thrust. He doesn’t just like being pegged by you. He _loves_ it. You can tell because of how he tries to talk to you, putting more faith in his voice than he probably should.

“That’s it, d-doll,” he tries to encourage between budding moans and groans. “J-just, _mhh_ , just like that, t-there, _oh_ yes…”

His hips buck up into yours as you drag along his network of pleasure receptors in the port. His chest leans up into yours, shirt open, tie askew, heaving without proper lungs, and his legs wrap around your hips, pulling you deeper inside.

His trench coat sits unfurled like a fan beneath him, wrinkling as you start to pick up pace. His hat is crooked (he insisted he kept it on), casting a dark shadow across his face and making the fluctuations of brightness in his eyes all the clearer. His hands find your back and curl into your matching white shirt with a faster thrust into his port, one that you tried to put the motion of your hips he liked so much into.

You can tell he appreciates the gesture with how his voice heightens some, louder than before, your name slipping from his rubber lips with every couple thrusts. He starts to moan more frequently when you start telling him everything on your mind; how good he sounds next to you, how nice his legs feel around your waist, how much you appreciate how he looks with a cock jammed inside him. The last comes out filthier than the others, but he doesn’t care at all; he’s so caught up in the intimacy of things he can’t help but shudder at the thought.

As you fuck him, a devilish thought dances in your brain. Nick was renowned for being a tease, and you knew this first hand… So what would happen if you did the same? You knew, on top of everything, Nick was persistent, enchantingly so… What would the thrill of the chase do to him? A smile, seemingly benign, crosses you, as you slow the thrusts down to a crawl.

Valentine shivers next to you, fingers lost in your shirt, a staggered, dejected sound leaving him as you change pace. The realization of what you’re doing hits him faster than you expect, especially when those golden eyes turn to you, lost and eager.

“S-Sweetheart,” he pleads. “Don’t leave me hangin’, c'mon… Please doll, it feels so _good…”_

Hearing that sultry voice so soft, so gone in the pursuit of end game pleasure feels like a new sin all into itself. You keep pace, despite the temptation, in light of the new prospect. He keens and trembles in your arms, trying to find purchase in readjusting his hands on your back.

 "Hon, I’m so close,“ he insists pitifully, almost sounding like he’s going to cry. “I’m so, so close, please… _Please…_ I need it… I need it so bad…”

You take a shaky breath, but continue your gradual pace, indulging yourself in this new side you’ve unlocked. This is what finally gets him to sob, though he couldn’t really cry; what gets his normally stoic reserve to crumble.

“Let me cum, dollface,” he begs to you. “Please, I want to so damn bad… I need you, please… _Please_ make me cum…” 

There’s the jackpot you were looking for, and boy was it worth it. Your core is on fire looking at the display, hearing the sounds, realizing the raw emotion of his reaction. So eagerly, you cage him on the bed with your weight and grab his sides, fucking his port rough and past.

Nick falls apart as soon as you do. Any further pleas he gets out scramble in the air and turns to primal, garbled encouragements; not because of any static to his voice, but because you’re fucking him _that good._ His hands claw at your shirt, pleasure overwhelming him, his legs tight on your hips, until finally, he cums, your name in the form of a breathless gasp announcing its arrival.

He clings to you, eyes closed and golden irises flickering, quivering like a leaf in the breeze as he lets go, raspy moans and sighs leaving him as he enters a positive feedback loop. You watch, your own orgasm coming and going at the sight, and wait it out, to see if it’s going to be a short one or a long one. The length varied with each session.

Luckily for you, it turns out to be a short one.  He comes to, dim-eyed and panting, after a minute, and sinks into your arms, still shaking slightly. You pat yourself on the back mentally for remembering to keep the room cold, like he’d told you to from previous encounters, and hold him close, petting the smooth back of his head.

It takes two minutes of lying still and enjoying your company to get him to sit up a little and kiss you, though he misses your lips and hits your chin instead. You, in turn, kiss the bridge of his nose, earning a hoarse, soft coo from him.

You ask him whether or not you were ok, though you can already guess the answer. You’d never seen him that thoroughly satisfied besides you, save for when cases wrapped up cleanly.

He nods and cuddles up against you, making you feel nice and warm in the chilled room.

“…god, do I love you…” he tells you in a quiet, modest tone.

You smile, and can’t help but agree.


End file.
